<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>There are monsters and there are men by fvartoxin</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730001">There are monsters and there are men</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin'>fvartoxin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Holy Musical B@man - Team StarKid</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Basil calls everyone dear but especially Victor, Gen, M/M, WIPs? What WIPs, You can have a little something from my main Batman AU as a treat, i wrote this in 2 days</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:33:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,206</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23730001</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fvartoxin/pseuds/fvartoxin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>50 years. 50 damn years, and by now they wouldn't dream of leaving the other's side. Too much has happened.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clayface &amp; Mr. Freeze, Victor Fries/Basil Karlo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There are monsters and there are men</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>If Victor Fries was a god, then he was a prophet. </p><p>Or…something of that nature. Best not to reconsider the statement once he had put it out there, even if it had only been birthed into the expanse of his own mind. And that had been for good reason. He brushed the thought aside for the time being, firmly shoving it into that gray area of consciousness’s edge to be explored later on in solitude before letting a massive, clawed hand trail its way along the other man’s lower jaw; inadvertently forcing Victor’s eyes up to meet his before he drew back. “One would think that, after this long, you’d stop passing out in the damned shower,” Basil sniffed haughtily. Still, the looming shape struck by his massive form, made all the much harsher by the fluorescent lighting of the room, softened somewhat as he spoke. </p><p>“I <i>almost</i> fainted,” he corrected sharply, and took a few moments more to squint at the milky, gray-blue eyes which had surfaced in the humanoid figure in front of him’s warped visage before pointedly averting his gaze. The basement was as it should have been; small table and chairs pushed aside to make full room for Basil and his fretting, countertops clean as ever, his wife stationed directly next to the medical cot he currently sat on, as ethereal in her six decade-long sleep as ever. But thinking of Nora made the weight on his soul no less burdensome, and in an attempt to give himself something else to do he continued speaking. “There is a difference. Had I fell I would have likely split open my skull, and I do not feel blood. Speaking of which, after all these years I am still unsure how <i>you</i> expect to. Although I appreciate the effort.” </p><p>How nice it would have been, to register even the smallest of tactile sensations. Unfortunately, in large part his termite mound of a physical form no longer subscribed to such luxuries. “In this state, dear, I don’t trust you to not topple over when attempting to move, and we can’t have that,” he retorted, and continued his gentle exploration of the other’s clothed body all the while. “It’s better than nothing. Дарёному коню́ в зу́бы не смо́трят. <i>You’re</i> the very one who kept telling me that for all these years, unless you’ve forgotten this so soon?” Most everything had been frustratingly muted, frustratingly dull since he’d become Clayface in a more permanent manner. </p><p>“I am not attempting to. And, provided I had I actually broken a bone or torn muscle, I am quite sure you would know,” he groused, but made no move to pull away. Basil felt warm as an engine given that he ran at a higher temperature than most, but the discomfort caused by the sensation was something which Victor had been dealing with for quite some time now. Frankly, the years since Nora’s being diagnosed terminal and put into stasis coupled with his own transformation shortly after, and the subsequent chaos that had followed said events had all more-than-begun to blur together. Maybe he was getting old. </p><p>He had smashed through glass, through steel without consciously realizing that there were repercussions to it; at least, not until Selina had helpfully pointed out the glittering shards embedded in his forearms and back. Trust the Cat to be so bold as to make mention of it (among other, more sensitive issues over the years). There was a silence, though not a terribly uncomfortable one. </p><p>“It is quiet.” Apart from the usual whir of machinery in the room, that was.</p><p>“It’s a lazy morning for us and <i>some</i> others, I’m sure.” He chuckled at this, a low, rumbling sound crawling up from the depths of his chest. “I’m no man of statistics, though you know that; ask your son. I have no doubt that since <i>I’m</i> not attempting to choke the life out of Merkel at this moment, someone else is. I certainly don’t blame them, he’s a blight on the world as we know it.” </p><p>Victor raised a pale, sparse brow. “I believe that on some technical level he counts as your son as well, Karlo.” And the less said about Ragdoll, or Basil’s tendencies towards violence, the better. </p><p>“Semantics,” the fellow metahuman sighed, and dismissively waved one clawed hand in the air. “<i>Anyways</i>.” </p><p>“Let him recuperate without your barging in. Undoubtedly, breaking several ribs was not an enjoyable experience; although I do not think such a thing can be called ‘enjoyable’ for anyone except,” his eyes narrowed as he thought, “perhaps, the most masochistic of us. But I would rather not entertain that further.” </p><p>“I wasn’t saying I’d wake him, now was I? And, it’s best that you don’t.” The chill of the man’s glaucous skin (though cloaked in fabric) evaded him as it always did, and the proverbial blade buried in that fractured semblance of a heart inside his chest twisted a little more. He would have loved nothing better than for the cold to seep into his now non-existent bones, to consume him in his entirety as it did its surroundings. On occasion it nearly did; he’d rather not have freeze grenades wasted on something so frivolous, and so on occasion it would stay. The aftereffects of the explosion always hurt, as it would hurt most flesh-and-blood beings, but it was nice to just feel <i>anything</i> for the short while he had until losing consciousness. </p><p>Oh, the thoughts he’d had over a married man would have made the priests of his youth blush. Would have made a more youthful him cry at his lowest, and perhaps even nowadays had he still possessed tear ducts. </p><p>He had scarcely become cognizant of the fact that he’d stopped moving – stopped <i>breathing</i> — until Victor had pulled away. </p><p>Nearly-neon eyes bored into his. “I have my suspicions that any cure for your overall condition would only serve the purpose of liquefying you more permanently, old friend.” There it was, the unspoken ‘<i>I’m so sorry</i>’. “I am confident a few would complain about that. Even if some would be hard-pressed to voice their opinions publicly.” </p><p>“Yes, yes, best not to turn into human soup and all.” If what he was could even be considered recognizably human. “Far be it from me to not acknowledge that, if anything.” There was a heavy pause, then a “You stay there. Rest a while. We’re-“ he gestured in the direction of the cryotube with an arm, “-most certainly not intending to go anywhere, now are we? There’s always an hour from now.” And so he turned away, intending to once again take up watch near the basement stairs. </p><p>For an instant he seemed as though he might speak out against Basil’s leaving his side; then resigned to letting it happen as he noted that the shapeshifter was declining to actually go up the stairs. He raised a hand to his head, patting down the frost-white curls which adorned it. “Perhaps it is time to cut my hair.”</p><p>“You’d know better than I, dear.” One near-completely blind eye switched position, now popping out of the blade of one shoulder in an attempt to get a look. </p><p>“It can wait an hour.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>"Дарёному коню́ в зу́бы не смо́трят" - effectively something like "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth" in English. I'm lucky I barely remember Russian.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>